


The Merely Livable, The Merely Survivable

by starwarned



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Together, I wrote this all in the back of my mom's car while on a roadtrip, Kissing, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Pining Simon Snow, Role Reversal, Roommates, Simon Snow is Gay for Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Watford (Simon Snow), Watford Seventh Year, rated mature for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25837498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwarned/pseuds/starwarned
Summary: Simon's been in love with Baz for years.A reimagination of some of Carry On where Simon was the one secretly in love with Baz.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 35
Kudos: 243





	1. Bloody Compass

**Author's Note:**

> okay, this is a big ol stretch but bear with me! I haven't read carry on for a little bit so some of this might be super inaccurate but I did my best with the resources I had. :) and I really tried to leave a lot of the background info the same - I didn't want to change big details, but when it came to agatha, that got difficult. 
> 
> sorry this note is so rambly! read on!

**SIMON**

I haven’t seen Baz in eight weeks and  _ three days _ . Ever since he threw open the doors to the dining hall like the Queen marching into court, he’s been avoiding me. We live in the same room at the top of a secluded tower and I still can’t manage to catch him, even just to tell him that I got a  _ Visit _ from his mother. 

I’ve been having dreams about Baz’s mother (should I call her Mrs. Pitch? Natasha? Headmistress?) nonstop every night. I keep thinking I see her standing in the corner of our room and she’ll say,  _ “My rosebud boy, my son,”  _ and when I blink, she’s gone. I know I’m just dreaming, but I can’t scratch the itchy feeling that she’s still trying to reach out to me. Or to Baz, more likely - which I’d relay to him if I could get him alone. 

I’ve spent the last three years trying to never be alone with Baz. Honestly, I’ve spent the last six and a half years trying to avoid him, but the reason changed over the course of that time. 

Ever since fifth year, I’ve been painfully and irrevocably in love with Basilton Grimm-Pitch. I can’t remember an exact reason or catalyst, but I do remember looking at him one day and thinking about instead of running him through with the Sword of Mages, I’d love to run him through with my cock. (Crass, but that’s the mind of a fifteen-year-old boy). 

Before realizing that I wanted to kiss him far more than wanting to kill him, I’d avoided being around him because I was  _ sure  _ he was a vampire and that he’d bite my neck off at the first chance. Since then, I’ve avoided him because, Christ, I  _ want  _ him to bite my neck. He could drain me of all my blood and I’d probably still want to snog him. Unfortunately, my better nature got shoved to the side and I followed Baz around a lot because I wanted to be sure that he was a vampire. If I wasn’t such a huge numpty, I’d try to keep my distance more often. (Baz has no issue keeping his distance from me).

After years of being an integral part of his life, I know that Baz isn’t gay. Sure, he’s never had a girlfriend (that I know of), but the Pitch prodigy, queer  _ and  _ a vampire? Not likely. 

Having not seen Baz in over two months, I’ve been aching without him. That sounds metaphorical, but I mean it quite literally. I’ve never wanked so much in my life. Baz used to be my distraction from the bullshit that makes up my regular life - being the Mage’s  _ heir _ , barely keeping up with my classes, and dealing with Penny breathing down my neck about the Humdrum. Now, reality is my distraction from thinking about Baz, who will never return my affection.

Agatha, however, did return my affection. We dated for a while there and I think everyone expected it to last a lot longer (including me). It started out as a way for me to get over my pathetic schoolboy crush on Baz, but morphed into genuine care for her. I really like Agatha. She broke up with me only a bit ago and I think she broke up with me  _ for _ Baz. He would never let me hear the end of it if he knew we both ended our relationship with feelings for him. 

To be honest, I should have broken up with her earlier, but I had a lot of my mind. And my relationship with Agatha hardly felt like a relationship a lot of the time - it was more like having a person always in my corner (and unfortunately for Agatha, I have Penelope for that job). 

Once I accepted that I was lusting after my  _ boy  _ roommate, it didn’t feel right to still be with Agatha. It didn’t feel right to keep pretending. The Mage’s Heir, the Chosen One - queer? Hence why I haven’t told anyone except Penelope. (Penelope still insists that I rattle on too much about Baz, but she cuts me some slack because she knows I can’t help it). My relationship with Agatha and my feelings for Baz were issues that fucked with my brain a lot and while I could mostly afford to ignore it, I’ve never found a label that really works for me, so I stick to the umbrella term of ‘queer’. 

I’ll never come out to Baz or tell him  _ how I feel _ . We already have an extremely strained friendship (if I can even call it that) that would shatter into pieces if I admitted that I’m completely in love with him.

Because Baz is the sneakiest prick I know, he’s managed to avoid me with precision. I don’t think he’s even staying in our room - unless he’s waking up at dawn, showering in the dark, and making his bed before I can wake up. (Not likely because I’m an early riser and I always know when Baz has showered because the entire room smells like his excessively scented soaps). The only time I see him is in some of our classes, but he sits as far away from me as possible and only occasionally sneers at me.    
  


I’ve even been to the football pitch approximately six times since he’s been back - not that I’m going to see him as he’s been replaced on the team - just hoping he’ll be there, warming up and barely sweating like the prat he is. 

When I do finally see Baz outside of class, he’s sitting on his bed, pulling on his socks. I open the door and he acts like I’ve caught him mid-coitus. He looks up, hands freezing in their actions. 

“Baz,” I say.  _ Finally _ . 

“Snow,” Baz responds tersely. He finishes pulling socks on. Now that I’ve shut the door behind me, I notice that Baz’s hair is still a little damp and it, true to form, smells like posh soaps in our room. 

“Baz,” I say again, wincing at how idiotic I sound. 

“I think we’ve established that,” Baz says cooly and starts to slip on his shoes. 

I can tell he’s getting ready to leave and I want to simultaneously yell at him to stay and let him leave because I haven’t prepared exactly how I’m going to tell him I got a Visit from his  _ mother _ .  _ Hey Baz, your mum kissed me on the head and told me to get you to avenge her death, basically. Also, where’ve you been? You missed an exam in Political Science.  _

It just feels wrong. 

“Where were you?” I ask. 

“Not your business,” he responds, standing up. I watch as he carefully straightens out the sleeves of his blazer and flicks a bit of hair out of his eyes. 

Baz has never looked this haggard. His school uniform (which I think he gets  _ tailored _ ) is hanging off of him, his frame just a bit too willowy to be reasonable. His hair looks thinner if that’s possible and his skin’s even grayer than usual. Even his eyes, which I would typically and lovingly refer to as a shade of silver moonlight, have been reduced to a muddy gray. 

“I have to tell you something,” I insist, back still pressed against the door, so I at least know he can’t leave without physically pushing me (which I doubt the Anathema would allow even if I wouldn’t mind Baz touching me). 

“Then tell me, Snow. Don’t block the door like a lumbering oaf.” 

“I’m not blocking the door. Please, just-” I cut myself off, reaching up to tug at my hair like it’ll knock the words out of my brain. “This is important.” 

“More important than me getting away from you? Doubtful.”

I sigh in frustration. “I-I-” I can’t get my brain to wrap around what I’m supposed to say to him and he takes that to his advantage. 

“Talk much?” he sneers, taking a menacing step towards me. 

I step up to meet him and Baz takes the opportunity to move forward, bump my shoulder with his so I stumble away, and disappear out the door, shutting it gracefully behind him. I wish he’d slammed it - then maybe I’d feel less like an idiot for feeling so worked up over this conversation. 

I don’t know exactly how the Veil works, but I hope Natasha Pitch doesn’t think I’m a knob for not being able to talk to her son. If she’d been around us the last six years, she’d understand why we talk to each other like this and why Baz can’t stand being near me. I feel bad for thinking like that. For Baz’s sake, I wish that she  _ had  _ been around. 

I know Baz isn’t going to return to our room anytime soon - he likely just took a shower to tide himself over for the next three days of being conveniently missing. (I’m sure he just found a way to stay in Niall’s room or down in the Catacombs). 

I sit down on the edge of my bed and flop back against it, grunting with the force. Being away from Baz for this long was something that maybe could have been helpful in my getting over this pathetic crush (not that being away from him every summer ever helped). To my own credit, I try to not even think about Baz over the summers. He’s like everything else at Watford or magic-related - too good to be true when I’m shoved into a room with seven other starving boys for three sweaty months. 

I’m startled out of my thoughts when Penny appears in the doorway. 

Once I’ve sat up enough to recognize that it’s her, I drop my head back down onto the bed. No point in getting up or chastising her for being in our room. 

“Where’s Baz?” she asks, sitting on the edge of his bed. It’s unusual for her to initiate a conversation about my roommate. 

“Like you care,” I mutter, endearingly. Even when Baz could  _ absolutely  _ get her in trouble because he’s actually around to catch her now, Penelope couldn’t be arsed to change up her routine. 

“What’re you doing?” 

I shut my eyes. “Trying to ignore how much Baz upsets me.” 

“So he was here?” she perks up, getting off of Baz’s bed and coming over to lie down on her stomach on my own bed, turning her head to face me. 

I nod. “He was. I scared him off.” 

“I doubt that,” she says, reaching out to tug at the sleeve of my shirt. “What happened?” 

“He antagonized me and I got flustered.” 

“Right. So the usual.” 

I roll my eyes. “Yeah.” 

“I’m sure he’ll be back.” 

I shrug. “He’s been gone for three days - he might be gone for another three, or longer.” 

“Go find him,” Penelope suggests, as if I haven’t been  _ trying _ . 

Sitting up, I tuck my legs underneath myself and sigh. “I’d love to, but he’s elusive.” 

Penny stays laying on her stomach but pokes my knee. “If anyone can find Baz, it’s you, Simon.” She says it like it’s a bad thing.

I haven’t told Penny about Baz’s mother. I don’t know why. I should tell her - I tell her everything. She thinks I just want to interrogate him about where he’s been (which is absolutely what I want to do, but I do have something a tad more pressing).

Penelope eventually leaves with a quick, “You’re bumming me out and I promised I’d call my mother. Don’t go out of your way to pick a fight with him,” leaving me to think about  _ Baz  _ (a too common pastime of mine). 

Against my better judgement, I think of a spell. My magic isn’t leaking out of me anymore as I’ve calmed down since the argument with Baz, but I can still feel it there, barely not boiling over. I steel myself and try to focus on only the magic I have readily available. Pulling my wand from my pocket, I shut my eyes, thinking about  _ finding Baz _ , and whisper, voice thick with magic,  **“Come out, come out, wherever you are,”** mentally preparing myself to have accidentally destroyed our bedroom. 

There’s a crash from Baz’s side of the room and I fling my eyes open to find all of his wardrobe drawers out and on the floor, clothes spilling out of them. I’d laugh if that wasn’t a sign that my spell probably didn’t work. 

Fuck it. 

I shove my wand back into my trousers, but before I can go to sleep early (like I’d originally planned on), the pocket starts glowing softly. 

“Christ,” I breathe to myself, pulling it carefully back out of my trousers, finding the end of my wand glowing dimly. When I turn a little bit towards the door, it starts to glow brighter. Experimentally, I turn back away from the door and the light dims. 

Somehow, I’ve turned my wand into a bloody compass. I can only hope it leads me to Baz and not to my possible demise. (Those could always be the same thing, really). 

I follow the light of my wand (thank Magic it’s later in the evening so most people are in their rooms and not out where they can see me following a glowing stick) out of my room and Mummer’s House, leading me down to the Catacombs. Truly, I should have expected that. 

Once I’m in the cloying dark of the Catacombs, the light glows even brighter, reflecting off the close walls and lighting up the space. It’s not like I’ve never been down here - I explored every single tunnel over the past few weeks, trying to find if Baz was hiding out here. Being down here with a sufficient light source is a lot different. 

As I continue down one of the passageways, I can see a figure ahead of me. I know this is where Baz’s mother’s grave is, so I know it’s Baz before I’m even close enough to see his shape. As he turns the light glows bright and then dims to a dull glow again, casting most of the tunnel into darkness - but not before I can get a clear look at his mouth. 

Bloodstained fangs protrude just barely past his lips, forcing his mouth into a more open position. With a quick glance down, even though it’s now dark, I can see the carcasses of two rats lying on the ground, seemingly drained of blood. Realistically, I thought it would be bloodier than that. 

I can barely see Baz in the darkness, but I’m sure he can see me fine. He probably has fucking incredible eyesight - being a vampire and all. 

I feel like I should be jumping up and down and whooping because  _ I was right _ . I’ve spent years trying to convince everyone around me that Baz is a vampire and now that I know he is, now that I have  _ proof _ , I feel bad. I feel like I’ve intruded on his personal life and that if I could forget this and leave, I would. 

Baz’s expression makes me stay.


	2. Double Entendre

**BAZ**

I brace myself to be screamed at or to be taunted.  _ Simon Snow knows I’m a vampire. _ I’m no longer allowed to say  _ they  _ to him and get away with it. 

He smells fucking incredible - his blood, anyway. I try to will my fangs to disappear, but while I’m focusing so hard on that, something comes bubbling up my throat that I’m not equipped to stop. 

“I’m gay, too,” I say. “If this,” I gesture around myself. “Wasn’t enough for you.” 

Before it’s even out of my mouth, I want to claw it back in.  _ Why the fuck did I say that? _ Snow has only just discovered my pension for drinking blood and my body decides that now’s the time to come out to him? Crowley, I was hoping to avoid  _ ever  _ coming out to him. I don’t need the fucking Mage’s Heir spreading _ that _ around, too. 

I swear to Morgan and Methusala that something outside of myself compelled me to say that. I don’t know what kind of magic malfunction Snow orchestrated, but he’s just stubborn enough to make this happen. 

Snow’s gawking at me - and I mean gawking - mouth open, eyes wide, the whole thing. He’s always bad with words, but I think his mortal enemy coming out to him in the middle of the Catacombs with blood in his mouth and dead rats on the ground has truly broken him. I never thought I’d see the day. 

“Really?” Snow finally asks, so quietly that even I can barely hear it and I have enhanced hearing. (I think. To be fair, I don’t know that much about vampires). 

I roll my eyes. I just told him and he needs a confirmation? Not that I’d ever admit it, but it’s kind of endearing that Snow’s so predictably idiotic. 

I decide to just go with it. I’ve said it and there’s very little chance of Snow just forgetting this conversation ever happened. “Yes, Snow. I assume that your ears are properly functioning.” 

Snow looks intensely confused (a staple expression of his) and I can tell he’s working something out in his head. I’m sure he’s built up a mental version of me that includes my sexuality aligning more with his so my most recent confession probably fucks with that. 

Snow still looks at me like I’ve proposed an extreme mathematical equation for him to solve. His hand moves up to his throat and I realize why I was having a hard time not draining him then and there - his cross is gone. I’m not sure why he took it off, but judging by his eyes flicking to the fangs still protruding just barely past my lips, he wishes he’d kept it on. 

Snow opens his mouth two separate times before actually speaking. He surprises me. 

“You look awful,” he says. 

I roll my eyes. I don’t even want to dignify the comment with a response. But I do. Because I can’t let a moment of poking at Simon Snow pass me by. “I've been drinking rats underneath the school. What’s your excuse?”

His face flushes. It gives his skin just an extra bit of color and I’m not too big to say he looks really lovely. As much as I hate Snow and have dedicated most of my young life to being his arch-nemesis, he’s really quite attractive. Fit. He’s got those curls that anyone would pay to run their hands through. 

Unfortunately, thinking about the blood flushing to his cheeks makes me want to bite him even more - part of the reason I’ve been especially avoiding Snow. Yes, I avoid Snow as much as I can otherwise, but ever since I’ve returned from being kidnapped by  _ numpties _ , I’ve been abnormally weak. 

Yeah, I was kidnapped by numpties. I was held hostage by them for six weeks (in a literal  _ coffin _ , fed only blood) until Fiona rescued me and basically held me hostage for another two weeks, not allowing me to go back to school. Now that I’m here, though, it’s likely that I should have stayed in Hampshire for longer than two weeks. It’s seventh year and I’ll be damned if I let Penelope Bunce beat me out for top of our class. 

Snow shoves his right hand into his pocket but keeps his left out, clutching tightly to the wand that’s still casting soft light around the dark cavernous space. 

“Christ, Baz, can’t you be civil for forty-five seconds?” (Snow is swearing like a Normal and it means he’s flustered and that means I win). 

“No.” 

Snow runs a hand through his hair aggressively. “I have to talk to you.” 

“Do you need my  _ permission  _ to say something?” I ask, practically spitting it out like it’ll make him go away faster. I can’t handle being this close to him. I don’t know where he put his damn cross, but he’d better find it soon. “Because if so, I don’t grant it. Sod off, Snow.” 

Snow and don’t get along - we don’t  _ talk  _ and we don’t spend more than one minute in a conversation without turning it into an argument. 

“Fuck, Baz, it’s about your mum.”

_ What the fuck does Snow know about my mother? _

I shut up and raise an eyebrow, waiting for whatever bullshit explanation I’m about to be given. 

“Can we go up to our room or something?” 

Out of context, I’d think Snow was trying to bed me. 

“Why?”

“Because it’s dark and cold, and…” Snow trails off, trying to come up with something to say or at least how to say it. “There are dead rats on the floor.” 

He makes a good point and it’s embarrassing that I forgot that Snow had caught me  _ literally  _ in the act. (The Vampire Act). (And then I thought it would be really great to come out to him apparently). 

“Fine,” I say. I consider asking Snow to leave first so I can finish my meal, but my fangs have finally disappeared and I’m not convinced that Snow would actually leave me alone. “Let’s go, Snow.” 

He doesn’t say anything, looking at the floor and then my mouth, before turning on his heels and starting to leave. He takes the light with him so I have no choice to follow. (Ever since being stuck in a dark coffin for six weeks, I’ve had a weird aversion to how dark it is down in the Catacombs. I was going to drain the rats then run back out immediately). It feels like my body is extra weight, barely carrying itself out of the dark. 

I wouldn’t be doing this if Snow didn’t seem so serious. 

I trail behind Snow like a lost puppy, which feels ironic as over the years, he’s been the one following me around for years on end. I know he’s obsessed with figuring out what I’m  _ plotting  _ and Snow is the least subtle person I’ve ever met. 

It feels uncomfortable to go into our room together. I’m not sure that it’s ever happened before. Snow and I typically avoid each other while in Mummer’s House. 

Once I’ve shut the door behind me, I have to hobble over to the bed and sit down on the edge, letting my leg rest. The walk back from the Catacombs was a lot harder than I anticipated. Looking around, I notice that my wardrobe is completely open and all of my clothes have been spilled onto the floor. I don’t have the strength to fight Snow about it. 

Snow looks uncomfortable, standing just by his bed, but not sitting down. 

“So?” I ask, blanching when I speak, feeling like my chest is going to collapse inward. I feel like my body is slowly caving in on itself. 

Snow tugs on his hair,  _ like he always does _ . “Uh, your mother.” He sits on the edge of his bed, mirroring my position. He keeps looking down at my mouth like he’s expecting me to bare my fangs at any moment. “The Veil lifted,” he says. 

My eyes go wide. I don’t know exactly what he’s getting at, but I can guess. 

He continues. “Well, uh, your mother was here. She, well, she talked to me.” 

“My mother fucking talked to you.” 

I feel frozen and like my brain is working slower than it ever has.  _ My mother was here and I wasn’t.  _ I haven’t seen her since I was five and the one time I could have spoken to her after all these years, I was in a coffin under a bridge. 

Instead, she spoke to  _ Simon Snow _ , the boy I’m supposed to destroy or be destroyed  _ by _ . 

“Yes,” Snow says. He’s avoiding eye contact with me. “I don’t know why she was drawn to this spot instead of your home,” he pauses like I’m going to confirm that I’ve been at home ( _ plotting _ ) for the last two months. When I don’t, he continues. “But she was here. She kept coming back and asked if I’d hurt you or if I knew where you were.” 

I won’t cry in front of Simon Snow. (But I’m seriously considering it). I clench my fists to try and control myself. 

Snow grimaces. “She told me to tell you to find Nicodemus and find her killer. She said that her killer is still alive and that in order to bring her peace, you have to avenge her.” 

“I have to avenge her,” I repeat. “That’s all she said?” 

“Yes.” 

“But all the vampires are dead.  _ She  _ killed them. How can any of them still be alive?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t say.” 

“Who’s Nicodemus?”

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know a lot of things, Snow,” I snarl. 

He doesn’t say anything. Finally, some tact from this moron.

“And that’s all she said to you?” I ask more calmly. 

Snow’s face flushes pink under his moles and freckles. “Uh,” he says quietly. I can visualize his inner turmoil before he makes the decision to stand up and walk towards me. Under regular circumstances, I’d crawl back on the bed in order to get away from him or glare daggers until he leaves me alone, but I feel emotionally vulnerable and like I can’t move. (Under regular circumstances, Snow wouldn’t dare get this close to me). Snow stands just in front of me, his legs almost touching my knees, and leans forward to very gently kiss my forehead. He’s only there for two seconds before leaning back and stepping away. “She told me to give you that.”

I want to reach up and touch the spot where he’s kissed me because it feels like fire burning through my skin. I do so, very lightly brushing my fingers over my forehead and imagine my mother kissing me there. Snow hasn’t burnt a hole in my forehead, but the skin is still warm, even from two seconds against his mouth. I wonder what would happen if I pressed my whole body against him - would I stay warm for longer? Minutes? Hours? 

I feel my body flushing with unnecessary anger, directed towards Snow. He technically did nothing wrong, but there’s nobody else around to handle my rage. 

“Why the fuck did she come to you?” 

Snow stands very still, just in front of his bed. “I don’t know, Baz.” 

It makes me even angrier that he’s saying my name. “And she said  _ nothing  _ else to you? You’re sure that your pea-sized brain isn’t forgetting anything?” 

Snow shuts his eyes for a moment, flexing his fingers at his sides. “She came back later, but didn’t talk  _ to _ me. She came back and just said,  _ ‘My son, my son, my rosebud boy.’  _ And something like,  _ ‘He told me we were stars.’  _ She didn’t come back after that.” 

_ My rosebud boy.  _

“Who is  _ he _ ?” I ask, but I don’t know why I’m expecting Snow to have the answers. 

“I don’t know. Nicodemus?” 

“Fuck,” I mutter, bouncing my leg up and down to try and calm my nerves. It doesn’t work so I stand up and pace back and forth. 

“Do you not know who Nicodemus is?” Snow asks me. 

That’s it. I swear to Aleister Crowley that I’m going to hex him dead. I sigh. “No, Snow, I don’t fucking know who Nicodemus is. That would have been incredibly helpful information for you to get out of my mother.” 

“She came back through the Veil for  _ you _ , Baz. It’s not my place to interrogate her. And I assumed you’d know who he was and what she meant.” 

“Well, I don’t!” I shout, breaking the unspoken barrier of just speaking between us. I can’t help it. Pacing is making my leg ache, but it’s the only thing I’m allowing myself to focus on because if I think about my mother more, I’ll cry. 

“You should have been here,” Snow says and I can feel his anger rising as well. It pumps his blood and that’s not helping me focus. 

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Where were you?” 

“Not your concern!”

“Fuck you, Baz, it  _ is  _ my concern!” 

“No,” I snarl. “It isn’t.” I stop pacing and glare at Snow. 

“Well, I hope your two months off school were productive and that you’ve come up with an incredible way to stage your rebellion because your  _ mother  _ came for you. She came  _ for you  _ and I was here.”

I swear I’m going to kill him. I take three steps towards him, hand digging into my pocket for my wand before Snow reaches out and grabs my wrist. I struggle, but the second I look into his eyes, I know I’m not going to hurt him. At least, not right now. 

“Anathema,” he says. 

_ I know _ . I shove Snow’s hand away from me, but don’t draw my wand. Instead, I stumble back to my bed and sit down, pressing my face into my hands and supporting my elbows with my knees. My eyes can’t seem to focus on anything so I just close them. 

Images of my mother race through my head. They’re cloudy and from when I was a child mixed with images I’ve drawn from photos and descriptions of her from others. I miss her so much. I missed her. 

And she spoke to Snow. Snow got to talk to my mother.

“Baz?” Snow says softly. 

I sit up. “What spell did you use?” 

“What?” 

“When you found me in the Catacombs,” I say. 

“What makes you think I used a spell?” 

I roll my eyes. “Snow.” 

He crosses his arms over his chest and I can tell he’s focusing on not letting any magic associate with his words as he says, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” 

A searching spell? Then why did it make me-? Ah. Snow’s always been terrible with double entendre spells. I close my eyes again and lean against my bedpost. Before too long, I feel the bed sink beside me and my eyes snap open. Snow has taken the fucking liberty of sitting down right next to me. We’re not touching. I can feel the heat radiating off of him. 

For the briefest of moments, I think he’s going to hug me. 

He doesn’t. Snow just carefully leans his shoulder against mine. It’s comforting (and I want to punch him for it). 

Snow and I don’t often make contact, but the second that his hand reaches over to touch my fingers, I can  _ feel  _ his magic. I don’t know why he’s pumping it out, but it’s there. Smoky and green and with a depth I can’t fathom. 

Being attached to this much magic makes my whole body straighten up and I feel like I do when I drain an entire deer - full and satiated. Like I could do anything.

“What’re you-?” I ask, trying my best to snarl, even though I don’t think I have the energy to be antagonistic right now.

“Are you really gay?” Snow asks me, moving his hand away from mine. 

I lose the connection to his magic and I feel my shoulders slump just barely forward. He’s still warm against my shoulder, even through the several layers of Watford uniform that separate us. 

Snow and I aren’t friends - we don’t talk, we don’t divulge secrets. I don’t feel the need to lie to him, though. 

“Yes,” I say. I turn my head so I can look at him. 

He’s looking down at his hands, but once he feels my gaze on him, he looks up at me. “Okay,” he says. 

He stands up, taking that little bit of warmth away. I want to ask him to sit down again, to let me be in his warmth for just a moment longer, to let me feel his magic again, but I don’t. 

“I’m going to go find Penny,” he says. He’s not looking at me anymore. He sheds his blazer, dropping it unceremoniously on the end of his bed, and disappears out the door. 

I stay in that position, leaning against my bedpost like it’s my only support, until I’m done crying. I consider going down to the Catacombs and feeding more, but I’m too exhausted to drag myself there. At some point I lie down on my bed, uniform still on and being crumpled underneath me. I fall asleep, tears running down my cheeks and over my nose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) hope you liked it!


	3. (Vampire)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter but here you go! <3

**SIMON**

I didn’t really leave to find Penelope. I’m sure she’s in her room being tortured by her terminally delightful roommate and she’d be all too happy to have the distraction, but I need time to think. 

This doesn’t feel like something I can shove into a box, add to a list, and not think about again. 

Baz is a vampire. (I kind of knew that). Baz is gay. (I certainly didn’t know that). 

And I’m pretty sure that using the  **Come out, come out, wherever you are** spell that I read in a book one time is the reason that I know both of those things. It feels like I’ve outed Baz and it feels terrible, even if it was an accident.

I’m sitting at the top of the stairs, just outside our door. I’d reckon Baz is crying, but he’s pretty quiet so I gave up trying to hear him. 

Baz is gay. 

I can’t stop thinking about it, even if it’s not going to change anything. Just because Baz is gay doesn’t mean that he’d be interested in  _ me _ . 

Baz is a vampire. 

That’s a little easier for me to handle because I’d convinced myself of it years ago. It was a surprise to me that he was drinking blood from rats. Is he, like, a vegetarian vampire? That doesn’t make any sense, but I assumed that vampires drank the blood of humans - hence why I’ve been worried about Baz drinking my blood. (Well, only sort of worried. It’s also kind of hot. And now that I know he’s  _ gay  _ \- no. He’d probably make some snarky comment about how my blood is unappetizing because of how idiotic I am). 

I should probably put my cross back on before I go to sleep. I know Baz noticed it wasn’t there - he kept looking at my collarbone. 

I wish I’d found a better way to tell him about his mother. I’m not good with words, especially when Baz is there to ridicule every stutter or stumble. I can’t imagine how he feels. Sure, my mother’s dead as well, but at least I didn’t grow up with her and then  _ lose  _ her like that. 

Sighing, I shove my head into my hands and very carefully press my thumb over my lips. Why did I fucking kiss him? It felt abnormal to say  _ Your mom kissed me on the forehead and then told me to give it to you so, uh, just imagine I’m doing that _ , so instead I just did it. I didn’t really think about it. His skin was really cold and even when I sat next to him, I could feel how cold he was through his clothes. I wonder if that’s a vampire thing or a Baz thing. (I then wonder if I could warm him up and if he’d like that). 

His mother was so cold. Her sadness was so potent that I can still think about it and feel the coolness in my bones even now. 

The oddest part of the whole exchange, which is quite the claim, was when I touched Baz’s hand. Sure, I probably shouldn’t have done that, but it felt like my magic sparked to life under my skin. My magic is always stewing and causing trouble inside my chest and stomach, but when I touched Baz, it was like I was focused and if need be, I could direct it anywhere. I want to do it again. 

After I’ve been sitting on the stairs for a solid twenty minutes, I stand up. My muscles ache from sitting in the same position for so long, but I push through it and go back into the room. It’s darker now and Baz’s clothes are still all over the floor from when I knocked open his wardrobe. I can see the outline of Baz lying asleep on his bed - he’s still in his uniform and it looks like he’s just keeled over from where he was sitting. 

Usually, I don’t care so much about waking Baz up, but I’m quiet as I tiptoe around in order to see his face. His shoulder is softly rising and falling so I know he’s at least breathing. It’s dark, but I think I see the glistening of drying tears on his face. 

I carefully strip off the rest of my uniform so I’m just in my pants before carefully getting into my bed and just watching Baz. I leave the blanket down around my hips, exposing my chest so I don’t get too sweaty. 

Baz can see in the dark a lot better than I can ( _ vampire _ ) so I typically don’t push my luck in watching him sleep, but I take a moment to do so now. He’s out cold and I don’t think he’ll be waking up any time soon. 

I’ve spent a lot of time looking at Baz, but I take the time to admire his cheekbones - high and shapely. He’s got almost too little space between his cheekbones and his ears, accentuated by how thin his face has gotten, but he’s so beautiful. 

Baz’s eyes slowly open. It’s just light enough outside that I can catch the movement. He looks at me and I know I’m caught - I can’t look away and pretend I wasn’t staring. I blush. 

Baz doesn’t say anything for a while and I’m half-convinced that he’s sleeping with his eyes open, but when he looks down at my chest, I know he’s conscious. He must be wondering where my cross is. It’s in a box under my bed, but I don’t feel like putting it back on. I don’t know that I’ll ever want to put it back on. I don’t want him to think I’m afraid of him.

“Snow?” 

It’s so quiet that I barely hear him. 

Baz has looked up back to my eyes. 

“Yeah?” I breathe. I’m scared he’s going to badger me with more questions about his mother and about the Visiting. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“Baz?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” I say softly. “I’m not going to tell anyone you’re a-”  _ Why can’t I say it?  _ “You know.” 

Baz snorts softly. It’s gotten dark quickly and I can’t see his face anymore. “You’ve told most of the school, Snow.” 

“I know.” I feel bad about it now. “I won’t anymore.” 

Baz doesn’t answer. 

I continue. “And, uh, I won’t tell anyone about the other thing either.” 

I can hear Baz sigh, but he doesn’t say anything. I didn’t expect him to. 

I’m about to fall asleep when I hear Baz again. 

“Simon?” 

I hum in response. I can’t even open my eyes to look at his outline. 

“Will you help me?” 

“What?” 

“My mother.” 

I know what he means, but he continues anyway. 

“Help me find my mother’s killer, Snow. And whoever this Nicodemus is,” he says. 

I don’t think about it. “Okay.” 

I fall asleep. 


	4. Physically, Right Now

**BAZ**

I remember what I said before I wake up. Snow saying  _ ‘I’m not going to tell anyone’  _ winds its way into my dream before I’m sitting straight up, hair falling into my face. I’m breathing way too heavily. 

Snow’s still asleep, which means that it’s early because I don’t often wake up before him. He’s the biggest morning person I know. 

I stand up and carefully strip off my blazer and dress shirt, laying them down on the bed and take the next few minutes putting the drawers full of my clothes back and rehanging everything that had been knocked out of the wardrobe. I put my blazer and dress shirt away as well as my trousers - all of them wrinkled. I’ll have to steam them later (or use a spell if I can be bothered).

I start to walk to the bathroom to shower, but can’t compel myself to leave the room. I can’t help but feel like I’m under the same spell that Snow cast before finding me in the Catacombs. I walk towards Snow’s bed and before my body can betray me and sit on it, I drop to my knees in front of it. My face is level with Snow’s, but I’m still far enough away that his soft breaths that are disturbing the curls in front of his face aren’t hitting me. 

He looks extraordinarily peaceful. 

I have no reason to be kneeling in front of his bed - Snow and I aren’t close (emotionally. Physically, right now - yes). Maybe I’m feeling soft because he agreed to help me avenge my mother. 

Before Snow can open his eyes and make a fool of me, I stand up and head to take a shower. The shower makes me feel a lot better, but I feel lightheaded multiple times because of how hot the water is. 

Snow is just stirring once I’m out of the shower and I immediately regret not bringing clothes to change into in the bathroom. Whatever. I tighten the towel around my waist and step to my wardrobe, quickly changing into a pair of jeans and a simple cotton shirt since we don’t have classes today and I don’t have to wear my uniform. 

When I peak my head around, Snow’s sitting up in bed, running a hand through his hair. 

“Why’d you agree?” I ask. 

“What?” Snow asks. His voice is scratchy. 

“To help me.” 

“You asked,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

“We hate each other,” I say (which  _ is  _ the simplest thing in the world, as far as I’m concerned).

I sit down on my bed and slide on a pair of socks. My extremities have been extra cold ever since that blasted coffin. 

“We don’t have to.” 

I finish tugging on my sock and turn on the bed so I can face him. “What are you saying?”

Snow sits up further on the bed and pushes his hair out of his face. His bare chest is slightly sweaty and my eyes keep catching on his collarbones. I’m not used to his cross not being there, giving me a protective barrier against how enticing his blood smells. 

“Why do we hate each other, Baz?” he asks, rubbing his heels over his eyes. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” I say sharply. Truly, we hate each other based on the families we belong to (well, Snow’s metaphorical family - The Mage), but Snow’s annoying and idiotic and doesn’t think before he acts, so it’s extremely easy to hate him. I don’t really want to talk to him about that - or even change that. Just because I asked for his help on something he’s already involved in doesn’t mean I’m going to start  _ enjoying his presence. _

Snow stands up and stretches, body elongating just enough so I can see the outline of his ribs. Usually, Snow comes back from summer thin and malnourished but fills out his uniform again within a month with how much he eats in the dining hall every day. He hasn’t filled out yet, which makes me wonder what has prevented it. 

Snow’s agreed to help me because he’s the hero. Because he has goodness in his heart. (And maybe because he feels bad for me, but I don’t want to think about it). 

I’ve had just about enough of Simon Snow to last me the rest of the day. I lean back against my headboard and swing my legs around to cross them in front of me. I close my eyes in hopes that he’ll get the hint and go shower. 

He doesn’t. For the second time in less than twelve hours, I feel my mattress dip as Snow sits next to me. (Being less of a prick to him has really come to bite me in the arse). 

I open one eye at him and cross my arms over my chest. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Shut up,” he says. I freeze a bit - Snow doesn’t usually tell me to shut up in such a serious tone. “I’m trying something.”

He touches my calf that’s exposed past my socks and cuffed jeans (how did Snow not know I was queer?). The physical act of him touching me isn’t necessarily anything special - his hand is warm and his palm is a little calloused, but it’s still surprising.

“What-?” I ask again. 

I cut off like I’ve been shocked. Somehow, I can  _ feel  _ his magic brewing under his skin and it’s seeping into mine. I sit up. 

“Can you-?” Snow asks. 

I nod. 

“Can I- give more?” 

“Yes.” 

Snow tightens his grip on my leg and I feel like my extremities are being burnt, buzzing and hot, but I feel like I have so much space and capacity. I could cast any spell and have room to do seventeen more. My magic reserves have never felt this plentiful. I’m breathless and full of words. 

“How are you doing this?” I ask, and even though I feel shaky asking the question, my voice is strong. 

Snow pokes his tongue out of his mouth like he’s concentrating, but he says, “I don’t know. I’m just,  _ pushing _ , I guess. Does it hurt?”

“No.”

But it starts to hurt. There’s so much magic inside of me that isn’t going anywhere. 

“Can you-” Snow starts. “Cast something?” 

I nod and the spell comes to me before I can think about it too much. “ **Have your cake and eat it too** ,” I say, voice thick with power. Maybe too much power. The second it has left my mouth, the spell conjures a large chocolate cake on a ceramic plate that lands softly on the edge of my bed. 

I feel like I could conjure a hundred cakes (and maybe some scones for Snow’s benefit). 

Snow lets go of me and I feel cold again. (That seems to be happening a lot - Snow being my only source of warmth and then disappearing). 

“Wicked,” Snow says in regards to the cake. 

_ Wicked _ , I think, in regards to the possibilities of being attached to Snow’s seemingly endless supply of magic. I’m not sure that Snow has even considered it, but I can’t help imagining turning Snow’s own magic against him and taking him out. (I feel awful for contemplating it). 

I watch as Snow doesn’t even  _ think  _ about silverware of any kind before picking up a slice of cake with his bare hands. (Thank Crowley the cake appeared pre-sliced - I can’t imagine what Snow would have done if not). 

“Fuck, Snow, you’re a barbarian.” 

He grins toothily at me (and there’s chocolate in his teeth). I don’t know that he’s ever looked at me like that before. Said looks are usually reserved for Bunce or Wellbelove. It’s…  _ cute _ ? 

Snow is eating chocolate cake with his hands and I’m stupidly finding it endearing. 

“Good spell, Baz,” Snow says, already finishing off that first slice of cake. As he starts to reach out for another one, I lean over and hit his hand. 

“You’re going to get crumbs on my bed,” I say. 

Snow laughs. (I’m used to hearing that sound from across the dining hall and it’s a lot more inviting when he’s directing it at me). He’s still really close to me. I haven’t bent my legs at all and he’s sitting just beside them, one hand pressed against the bed just next to my knees. 

Once he’s finished chewing the residual cake in his mouth, Snow licks his lips. I watch his tongue and when it hits me, it fucking  _ hits  _ me. I’ve never wanted to kiss someone as much as I want to kiss Snow right now. 

_ Shit.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would never want to rewrite the magic sharing scenes from carry on because they're so goddamn beautiful, but I also think that they have to have that connection before kissing. (so I just wrote something silly and different). I appreciate any comments or kudos! <3


	5. Sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter! thanks for all of the support :)

**SIMON**

Baz is looking at me in a way he’s never looked at me before. 

“Do you want me to move it?” I ask, referring to the cake. (I still can’t believe that  _ Baz Grimm-Pitch  _ used a spell to create chocolate cake when he had access to a basically endless supply of magic). 

He shakes his head. He’s looking at my mouth. 

We’re not that far apart - my hand is close to his knee and my hip is settled right next to his feet, but his face is close enough that I could kiss him if I really wanted to. 

I really want to. 

I once told myself that I’d never make a move on Baz. Before I knew he was queer, I didn’t think he’d want to be kissed by any bloke - especially not me. Now I just think he wouldn’t want to be kissed by me. Why should he? We hate each other. (He hates me). 

I’m not going to kiss him. Even if he’s looking at my mouth and his eyes are kind of wide and he looks like he’s debating if he wants to bite me or not. 

I’d let him. If he bit me right now, I’d go happily. 

I’ve got chocolate on my fingers and I subconsciously start to lick them. 

Baz looks away from me. “Disgusting, Snow.” 

I don’t think he means it. 

“Sorry,” I say, the tip of my middle finger still against my lips. 

Baz looks back at me, his eyes flicking down to my fingers, and subsequently, my mouth. He reaches out and pushes my hand down (softer than before). 

Baz bends his legs, tugging them up so he’s sitting cross-legged and closer to me. He’s still kind of touching my hand from when he pushed it away from my mouth. (I hope there’s not still chocolate on it). It falls to my lap, his fingers pressing against my knee. Baz’s eyes keep switching between my mouth and my eyes like he’s trying to decide what will yield more results. 

“Thank you for talking to my mother,” Baz says. 

My eyes widen and I forget about how soft his mouth looks right now. I don’t think Baz has  _ ever  _ thanked me (and probably for good reason - I stir up a lot of trouble around him). I also don’t particularly want to be thinking about Headmistress Pitch while I’m thinking about kissing my roommate, but it’s sweet. I’ve never described Baz as sweet. 

“Sure,” I say. “I didn’t really have a choice. She appeared and accused me of hurting you.” 

Baz’s pouty mouth quirks up into a soft smile. “Either way,” he says like it’s hard to say. 

It must be. 

“I mean it,” I say softly. “I’ll help you.” 

Baz nods. Somehow, the motion of his head moves his neck forward. He’s so close to me. 

I’ve never heard Baz speak so quietly when he whispers. “I want to kiss you. Why the fuck do I want to kiss you?” 

I want to laugh, but my heart’s frozen in my chest. “I don’t know,” I whisper back. Then, “Do it.” 

He does. 

Baz kisses me. 

And it’s clear that he’s never done this before - and I’m incredibly in love with him for it (because of it, in spite of it - all of that). 

  
  


**BAZ**

I’m kissing Simon Snow. 

He’s just as warm as I thought he’d be (do I have a temperature difference kink?). 

He tastes like chocolate and  _ life _ . 

My hand is very gently pressed against his knee and  _ I’ve never done this before  _ but I want his curls in my hand. I slowly move my hand up to press against the side of his face and then slide it into his hair. 

Snow makes a soft whimpering sound into my mouth and it reminds me of who I’m kissing. 

I’m trying to channel Snow and not think about it, but the way that his mouth is moving against mine is thought-provoking. He’s done this before - that’s for sure. He dated Wellbelove for a little while there. I’d always thought Snow was straight, but with the way he’s kissing me, I swear he’s queer (in some fashion). 

Snow tugs back. “Wait,” he says. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.” 

I raise an eyebrow. “I kissed you, Snow.” 

“Right.” He swallows harshly. “Why did you do that?” 

I’m still right up next to his face. “I wanted to.” When I say it, I realize that maybe it’s been true for a while. At least longer than three minutes ago. It’s a lot to wrap my head around. 

Snow grins. My hand is still in his hair and I subconsciously rub my fingers against the back of his head.

“Are you gay?” I ask. It’s not that important, but I feel the need to even the playing field.

Snow shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. “Queer.” 

I don’t pry. 

“Can I kiss you?” Snow asks me. 

I kiss him. (I’ve had Fiona describe kissing to me once and she didn’t do it justice. To be fair, she was fucking high at the time). 

“Why would you be taking advantage of me?” I ask, pulling back just enough so I’m basically talking into his mouth, but I can form words without biting his mouth (which I  _ really  _ want to do. I want to bite to hell out of his lips and then his neck). 

Snow blushes and I’m reminded of how good he looks like that. “I’ve wanted this a lot longer than you,” he says. 

I don’t bother to ask what he means because I think I know. 

I’ve been obsessed with Simon Snow for years. And I think it’s mutual. 

**Author's Note:**

> there will be five chapters of this so stick around :) thanks for reading


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